


Rest Calm

by Andante



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Nightmares, Sex, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-30
Updated: 2012-09-30
Packaged: 2017-11-15 07:41:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/524836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Andante/pseuds/Andante
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This time had been close, a second longer and it would have been Sherlock wheeled away in a body bag.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rest Calm

Sherlock sighed and rolled onto his back, John slipped off his shoes and stared down at the figure on the bed. Sherlock was known for not sleeping during a case, however, this one had ended just hours before and he had been almost asleep already when John had led him to their bed and taken off his shoes before covering him up with the thick blanket to keep out the chill of their bedroom until John could join him underneath.   
John was somewhat more concerned about personal hygiene then Sherlock seemed to be, and he decided that a quick shower was in order before sleep. He washed off his sweat and the blood from the criminal that had somehow come in contact with his skin and clothes during the chase.   
Stepping out of the tub he sighed and tossed his shirt into the trash, he had hoped it could be salvaged, but a second look showed it to be bloody and torn beyond repair. He rubbed a towel over his hair for a second and then tossed it carelessly into the corner of the bathroom, he would deal with it tomorrow, he was exhausted and slipped on a pair of boxer’s before flipping the light off and walking back into the bedroom.   
He smiled and stared down at a sleeping Sherlock. He bent down to lightly kiss his forehead before slipping in beside him. His hand rested lightly on Sherlock’s neck when he pulled the blanket up to cover them both and for a moment John let it lay there as his finger’s felt for the thump of his pulse.   
He kept his hand there as he lay back against the pillows and shut his eyes. This time had been close, a second longer and it would have been Sherlock wheeled away in a body bag and not the murderer he had been chasing for almost a week.  
It had just been pure luck that John had brought his gun with him, a last second decision as he had run from the bedroom while his roommate had shouted for him to hurry up from the living room.   
Sometime during these thoughts John had fallen into a restless sleep with one hand resting lightly on Sherlock’s clavicle.   
Sherlock sighed and shifted a little closer to the warm body beside him, his eyes blinked sleepily and shifted again. John had one arm wrapped tightly around his upper body while the other one was sprawled out beside his head. The arm around him was a little tight and Sherlock turned his body in the hopes of moving John’s arm without waking him.   
This didn’t work like he had planned though, and with a huff Sherlock stilled his body. It was then that Sherlock noticed that John was breathing heavily and the hand above his head was clenching and unclenching as he lived out his nightmare.  
“John.” Sherlock said very softly. “John wake up.” He said a little more firmly.  
John jerked, but instead of waking up he gave a cry in his sleep and the left arm around Sherlock’s body tightened painfully and his right hand came down hard to grip Sherlock’s throat.  
His squeak of surprise was cut off when the hand tightened and Sherlock was suddenly without air. When this was added to the week without sleep Sherlock was suffering from he found himself unable to do anything but try and squirm away from John.   
He freed the arm closest to John but could not remove the soldier’s grip from around his neck. He kicked one leg out and hit John’s bad leg in an attempt to wake him, but John just snarled in his sleep and squeezed impossibly tighter.  
Black spots were the next thing Sherlock saw and he reached up desperately to the shelved above the bed and grabbed for anything that might help him. Several large books crashed to the ground, but all he managed to grip was a glass of water, that immediately fell over, and just before his vision went dark he recalled feeling water drip down onto his face. 

John’s world had just disappeared forever. He hadn’t been fast enough and their murdered, one Darrell Fain, had been the first to fire. John had tensed, but when the familiar feel of a bullet hadn’t hit him he spun around to watch Sherlock glance at his chest in surprise before his legs gave out and he fell to the ground.   
John was sure everyone in London could hear his cry as he lunged forward and knelt beside his dearest friend. Sherlock’s eyes were devoid of their usual light and mischief and the stillness of his body told John everything he needed to know, but he still reached out anyway.   
He was numb as he knelt beside Sherlock’s body and jerked in surprise when someone behind him tripped over something in the ally.  
The murderer, his mind growled, Sherlock’s murderer, was trying to get away. John pulled his gun, but decided that was too quick. Instead he tossed it aside and slammed into Darrell Fain at full force. He sat on him to hold him still while both of his hands came up to wrap themselves around his neck.  
Darrell kicked up and a sharp pain went through his leg but he ignored it and instead squeezed tighter. John snarled and watched as the man’s eyes dimmed, a crash of thunder sounded, and it started to rain. 

John’s eyes flew open and for a moment he was disoriented. Something wet was dripping on his face and neck and still held Sherlock’s neck in a death grip. With a cry he let go and turned on the lamp beside the bed.   
Sherlock’s eyes were closed and his body was limp on the sheets. John was aware that he was crying quietly as he gently checked his breathing and ran his hands lightly over the swollen throat and his face to see what kind of damage he had inflicted.   
“Sherlock.” He whispered. “Please wake up.” His voice broke and he moved his head so he could rest it on Sherlock’s upper chest. His breathing was wheezy and slow, and already John’s handprints could be seen forming on his throat.   
John moved one hand up to hover over the marks, but couldn’t bring himself to touch them again. He was still crying, but Sherlock’s heartbeat was comforting, and he took a shuddering breath and shut his eyes tightly. 

Sherlock awoke and his first thought that that it felt like he had a bad case of bronchitis. He made an effort to open his eyes but it was too much effort at the moment and instead he focused on what was around him.   
Crying, (John), a pressure on his chest, (John again), and a pair of warm lips touching his forehead. His arms didn’t feel like cooperating and Sherlock felt annoyed at his body’s refusal to move. Finally giving up on his arms he made another attempt to open his eyes.   
The light from the lamp was a little blinding and he squinted, but managed to keep them open. John had his eyes closed and was still lying on Sherlock’s chest. One of his hands held Sherlock’s, and when Sherlock squeezed it softly his eyes snapped open and he locked eyes with his flatmate.  
“Sherlock.” He breathed in relief and a sob shook his body as he pulled Sherlock’s body closer to his.   
Sherlock smiled instead of trying to talk, he was pretty sure a horse voice would set off another round of crying, and that was something he was really sure he didn’t know how to deal with. Instead a hand came up and ran through John’s short hair soothingly.   
This was something he had learned early on that the doctor enjoyed and watching the different looks that crossed John’s face was by far one of the experiments Sherlock had loved the most. He ran his short fingernails down the back of his head and towards the nape of John’s neck and his blogger sniffed, and nuzzled his face further into Sherlock’s chest.   
John let out an irregular breath as his tears stopped and his grip on Sherlock loosened. He opened his eyes and turned his head so that he could rest his cheek on Sherlock’s chest and watched him carefully. Sherlock had his ever-observant eyes locked on John’s and his hand was still running soothingly through John’s hair. John felt calmer already now that Sherlock had woken up, but he also felt the guilt creeping in now that the panic was fading away.   
He was also very aware that they were both wet, water was still slowly dripping off the top of the shelf above the headboard, and that the sheets they were lying on were completely soaked and it was a very unpleasant feeling.   
As if reading his mind, Sherlock sat up slowly and brought John with him. He pulled him away from the wet sheets and blankets and went to grab new ones from the chest at the foot of the bed. Following his lead, John stripped the bed and went to grab the blanket from the second bedroom.   
All of this was done without saying a word, but Sherlock noticed how John’s hand shook when he gripped the sheets and he limped slightly when he went out the door.   
Deciding neither of them was going to sleep anytime soon he disappeared into the adjoining bathroom and turned on the water to fill the tub. He glanced at himself in the mirror quickly and noticed he still had specks of dried blood on his shirt and a streak of, something he really hoped was dirt, down his arm.   
He glanced quickly at the bruises, not that bad, have had worse. He hummed low in his throat, slightly uncomfortable, but he could live with it, it’s going to affect John more then you anyway a voice in his head added, and he was reminded of John’s shaken face and his trembling hands.   
Suddenly remembering the water running behind him, he turned back to the tub and grabbed the mint bath soap John liked so much and swirled it around with his hands until the tub was filled with bubbles and warm water. He shut the water off and set two towels down beside the sink before walking back into the bedroom.   
John sat in his boxers on the newly made bed with his head in his hands, he was still shaking and didn’t acknowledge his boyfriend walk out of the bathroom. Sherlock stood there for a second before he confidently stripped out of his clothes and left them in the pile with the sheets before walking over to John.   
John didn’t look up as a very naked Sherlock stood before him, and he flinched when Sherlock set a reassuring hand on his head.   
“Well, come on then.” Sherlock commanded, trying not to show how uncertain he was. John was the one who was good at this kind of thing, and, as he took John’s hand and pulled him to his feet he really hoped he was doing the right thing.   
John allowed himself to be led into the bathroom but kept his eyes firmly planted on the floor while Sherlock finished undressing him.  
Sherlock usually wasn’t one for talking, but for once he wished John would speak, or even look at him. It was normal for Sherlock to ignore the people around him, but John had never ignored him before, not like this. Instead of voicing this though, Sherlock once again grabbed John’s hand and guided him into the warm water. Sherlock sat down first and leaning against the back of the tub he pulled John down so that his doctor was sitting in his lap and Sherlock would wrap both of his long arms and legs tightly around him and hold him close.   
Their breathing, the warm water, and the dimly lit bathroom were soothing and slowly John found himself starting to involuntarily relax. He shut his eyes and tilted his head back slowly to rest it on Sherlock’s shoulder.   
Sherlock felt relieved, John’s body was relaxing, his breathing was evening out, and his sniffing had stopped. Sherlock was pleased that his bath idea seemed to be working, and despite the awkward angle, he bent his head to press a kiss to John’s forehead, then another to the side of his mouth.   
John was a little wary at continuing the kiss, but at Sherlock’s kind gesture, one of John’s hands reached over to grab Sherlock’s and bring it to his lips. He kissed each fingertip, and then the palm while Sherlock hummed in approval and squeezed him closer.  
Setting Sherlock’s hand back in the water, John turned his head slightly and pressed a soft kiss to the throat he had bruised. His fingers ran lightly over the places his lips couldn’t reach and with a soft groan Sherlock tilted his head back further to give John better access.   
His reactions encouraged John and he moved his mouth a little lower to Sherlock’s shoulder. He sucked lightly at the skin before running a tongue across the new mark, and pressing light kisses over the skin.  
Sherlock gripped John’s short hair and pulled him closer. One of his hands slipped under the water and gripped John’s thigh tightly.   
John hesitated for only a moment before turning completely and burying his head in Sherlock’s shoulder, two warm arms wrapped around him and he felt ashamed when tears dripped down his face and down Sherlock’s chest.   
“Shhh.” Sherlock said softly, and he carefully ran his hand up and down John’s back.  
John’s shoulder’s were shaking and Sherlock kissed the top of his head before taking his turn pressing his lips down John’s neck.   
“Lock, stop.” John protested weakly. “I don’t deserve-“  
“Nightmares,” Sherlock interrupted. “For your hands to tremble, your leg to ache and cause you pain. No, you don’t deserve any of that.”   
John whimpered and Sherlock resumed kissing his neck. “And since I know exactly what you dreamed about, I think the most logical solution is for you to take me back to bed.” Sherlock was annoyed that his voice was hoarse, but he was pleased he managed to say everything without having to stop.   
Sherlock pushed John back gently and stood up, stepping out of the tub before offering John his hand, which was taken carefully, and he lifted John out of the water. One of their largest towels was wrapped around John who had resumed looking at the floor. He lifted his doctor’s face and wiped his cheeks with his thumbs. John looked up at him, but didn’t speak.   
Sherlock was unsure what to do exactly and after quickly drying himself off he once again took John’s hand and led him back out of the bathroom. He didn’t like silent and scared John, it unnerved him to watch his closest friend feel so small and to flinch away from him.  
John stood looking nervously at the bed, he had heard Sherlock before, but he wasn’t quite sure how the younger man could possible want to be touched by him, or even stand to be in the same room as he was.   
Seeing John’s hesitation, he gave a frown and reached over to yank the towel off John, leaving him standing naked beside their bed. Sherlock tossed his own towel aside and with graceful movements he dropped down on the bed and pulled his naked flat mate on top of him.   
John gasped in surprise and then groaned when Sherlock’s mouth attached to his neck and began lightly sucking and nipping at the skin.   
“Sherlock.” John moaned low in his throat and slid his hand through the wet curls of the man under him. He tugged sharply at the hair and Sherlock bucked up and hissed when his growing erection brushed against John’s.   
John pulled back and stared down at his panting friend. Sherlock whined in his throat and raised arms up to pull John back down. Without laying any weight on Sherlock, he leaned forward carefully and pressed his mouth against Sherlock’s forehead and slowly worked down to his eyes and then his mouth.   
Sherlock arched up slightly, wanting to feel John’s skin and he pressed his mouth firmly against John’s. His tongue slid along John’s lip and encouraged him to open his mouth further.   
Sherlock pulled back slightly and gasped for breath, his mouth resting lightly on John’s and his lips occasionally shifting enough to press a light kiss to his mouth. While he was breathing, one of John’s hands began slowly sliding down the other man’s chest and lightly brushed a finger over one of the nipples.   
Sherlock gasped into John’s mouth and his body lifted up, seeking more from the body on top of his. John smiled into the kiss and used the edge of a fingernail to press a little harder on the nub. When Sherlock cried again into his mouth, John pulled back and continued kissing down his body, all while Sherlock writhed and gasped for breath under him.   
“John.” Sherlock moaned, and John winced at the hoarseness of his voice. He opened his mouth wider and kissed gently at Sherlock’s throat. His second hand moved up and cupped Sherlock’s cheek and comforting fingers spelled out a silent apology as they ran soothingly over the skin and continued their teasing and exploration.   
Sherlock hissed, and was having none of that. With his amazing strength he grabbed John and flipped them over until he was straddling John, he pushed John’s hands aside and bent down until John was forced to look into his eyes.   
“Do not apologize.” He growled and stared down John. One of John’s hands moved back up to the bruises, but Sherlock pushed it aside again and held it down. “What did I just say?” He growled.   
John turned his head aside, unable to look any longer, but Sherlock roughly gripped it and pulled it back. He pressed his mouth against John’s and forced his tongue inside. John whimpered and then cried and bucked up as Sherlock’s other hand reached down between his legs and gripped him tightly.  
“I know you’re sorry.” Sherlock whispered insistently. “I will never hold your nightmares against you.”  
John choked out a noise that might have been a sob, and Sherlock quickly bent down to kiss down again, this time it was gentler and when he pulled back he had a smirk on his face.  
He lowered his head until he could whisper into John’s ear. “I believe I asked you to take me to bed, but I seem to be the one doing all the work.” His voice was teasing and light and he licked up the side of John’s ear before moving to kiss him again and once again reach a hand down between their bodies.   
John almost laughed, but Sherlock’s hand on him forced it out as a strangled choke, and his body rose involuntarily into the touch. He opened his eyes stared up into Sherlock’s bright ones. They were wide and John loved the look of curiosity and awe that always filled them when they did this.  
It had been a new experience for both of them the first time they had crawled into bed together, and John would have thought that the watchful eyes of his flatmate would have made him nervous, and instead it had excited him to watch them shine and see every one of Sherlock’s emotions flash through them.   
It seemed to be the only time he allowed anyone to see how he felt and John felt honored to be allowed into the mind of the most brilliant man he had ever met.   
He felt himself pulled back into the present when Sherlock brushed a hand across his cheek.   
“John?” He asked, and his previous statement wandered back into John’s mind. He glanced up one last time to make sure Sherlock was still ok with what they were doing. His eyes confirmed it and without speaking John nodded and flipped them over again until his body was lying on top of Sherlock’s and he was kissing him again.  
This time it was John’s hand that reached between them and his mouth moved down to suck on Sherlock’s nipples. He bit down lightly and was rewarded with a sharp cry and firm hands holding his head down in place. He continued his abuse for several more minutes until Sherlock was bucking up into his hand and his fingers were scratching down John’s back hard enough to leave marks.   
John pulled back slowly and was pleased with the new marks on Sherlock’s torso.   
“More John.” Sherlock gasped.  
John smiled, Sherlock had never hesitant about what he wanted, and he let go of Sherlock completely before sitting up and reaching over to the small table beside the bed. He felt the detective shiver when the cap on the bottle snapped shut and John very slowly moved his now slick hand down the long and thin body under him.   
Sherlock was whining again and his hips rose up, to give John’s finger more room as it slowly slid into him.   
Sherlock’s eyes fluttered shut at the now familiar sensation, and his hips moved in time with John’s fingers as he slowly added a second, and then a third.   
“Please John.” He begged and cried out something that might have been John’s name when fingers hit his prostate. John smirked; the only time his flatmate seemed to show manors was when they were in bed.   
John teased him until it became too much for Sherlock to take. John pulled out his fingers to oblige his request.   
John locked eyes on Sherlock while he slicked himself up. John repositioned himself and ran a thumb over Sherlock’s temple and down his cheek to make sure he was really ready.   
“I love you.” Sherlock muttered suddenly, as John slowly slid into him.   
John made a sound that, was not a sob, no matter how Sherlock later insisted that it was. He could count on one hand how many times that phrase had been exchanged between them, and Sherlock had never been the first to speak it. He paused once he was fully sheathed in the tightness he loved so much and looked down at Sherlock. He smiled at the trusting face looking back up at him and gently kissed him.  
“And I love you. More then you will ever know.” He whispered, and then braced himself and carefully tested movement. When Sherlock’s face relaxed and his hands moved up to clutch John’s back, he slowly began moving in and out of Sherlock.  
In contrast to his bold personality on a normal day, it had shocked John to learn how quiet Sherlock was when it came to sex, and John had loved the soft gasps and cries that left his mouth the first time he had heard him. In addition, something that was always guaranteed to make John smile was that Sherlock was never still. His hands gripped at anything he could and his head would toss back and forth as his body was overwhelmed with sensations he had denied himself for so many years.  
John tilted his hips just right and was rewarded with his name escaping Sherlock’s mouth as a soft cry and two steady hands coming up to run themselves down his back. He could see that Sherlock was close, his eyes were half open and he pulled himself up to embrace John. John shivered at the added sensation of Sherlock’s fingers clinging to him, and bracing himself on one hand, he reached between them and gripped Sherlock’s neglected cock gently in a slippery hand.   
He used long strokes before his hand moved quickly and squeezed softly. The effect was instantaneous and Sherlock cried and sobbed into John’s shoulder as his orgasm shook his entire body. John wrapped one arm around him and clutched him tightly as his body thrust a few more times, and then he followed Sherlock.  
John squeezed tighter as Sherlock’s body continued to shake and his breathing came in quick breaths as his body tried to calm down. John brought his mouth up and kissed him gently, easing him out of his high, and his hands ran up and down the trembling body soothingly.   
“I do know.”  
John looked down at the man who had spoken and raised an eyebrow in question.  
“Before, you said I would never know the full extent of your love, but I do. I see it everyday, even when I’m being disagreeable, or insulting, or when I don’t buy milk, or do the laundry.” His eyes were wide again and he was gripping John tightly to keep him still.   
John’s eyes were soft as he slowly pulled out of Sherlock and wiped him off with the towel he had tossed to the floor. He rolled onto his back, when he was done and pulled Sherlock into his arms and kissed his forehead. Sherlock’s eyes had not left him the entire time and were staring up at him, waiting for a response.   
“You’re one of the most brilliant people I’ve ever known.” John finally whispered. “I don’t know what I would do without you.” His arms tightened and he frowned once again at the hand marks on Sherlock. It had been easy to forget with Sherlock begging him for sex, but now the guilt was returning.  
Sherlock shifted until he could rest his head comfortably on John’s shoulder and looked up at John. “Do you want to talk about your nightmare?” He still wasn’t very good at this part of a relationship, but he was positive he had said the right thing when John shifted slightly and then spoke.  
“He killed you, and I was going to kill him.”  
“Strangulation.” It might have sounded like a question but John knew Sherlock to well to believe that, even he could have figured that out.  
“Yes.” John murmured. “It was so real, he kicked me and I felt it.” John chuckled a little and ignored the twinge in his leg he felt.  
Sherlock looked at him guiltily. “That might have been me. I was trying to wake you.”  
John looked at him closely and before long both men were laughing hysterically in the bed.   
Finally out of breath John sniffed and reached over to shut the lamp off. As the room was plunged in darkness John repositioned the two of them to that Sherlock could lay on his shoulder and John could run a hand through his drying hair and rest it lightly over his back.   
Sherlock hummed and snuggled closer into John’s side, kissing his shoulder before shutting his eyes. John’s guilt was far from over, the man did have a tendency to overreact as far as Sherlock was concerned, but that could all be dealt with tomorrow.


End file.
